Worth It
by nine miles to go
Summary: Drew can't find Denise anywhere, and realizes just how far he's willing to go to prove that he loves her.


Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs! For shaaaame!

More DenisexDrew love. They are unbearably perfect for each other.

* * *

Worth It

"See you tonight," Drew had said when he'd left that morning for an exam, and Denise hadn't said anything, which was unremarkable enough. Sometimes she'd grunt, or on rare occasions she'd actually murmur a good-bye, but for the most part he was lucky if she lifted her eyes off her computer screen when he left in the morning.

So he didn't expect to come back to an empty apartment when he finished his day at the hospital.

"Denise?" he asked the empty room. Usually he'd find her eating popcorn on the bed or fallen asleep over her paperwork when she had a day off—it was rare that she left, since she wasn't exactly known for being the most sociable person. And as a rule they let each other know when they were leaving the dorms, because Drew insisted after Denise came back from the bar late one night and he'd worried ("I'll just write a note next time, you pussy," she'd scoffed, rebuffing him completely).

He picked up his cell phone, about to dial, when he heard the words "you pussy," going through his head again. The last thing he needed was Denise freaking out about him always needing to know where she was. So he set down the phone and decided to let it go.

At least until it started to get dark. Three hours passed, and it just seemed entirely out of character for Denise to be gone that long, especially when the pair of them so rarely both had the evening off. He heaved a sigh, knowing he'd regret it in a moment, and punched in her speed dial.

After a moment he heard it ringing—in the apartment. His eyes widened slightly as he followed the noise to her nightstand, where not only her cell phone, but her wallet and hospital ID were laying.

"Damn it," he muttered, flipping his phone shut. This was all the confirming evidence he needed to know something was wrong—but _what?_ What could Denise have possibly gotten herself into? She was a smart girl, she could take care of herself. She knew better than to just ditch him without even a bread crumb indicating where she went.

There was nobody he could logically call. He tried the hospital just in case, only to receive a less-than-helpful "What, she finally gnawed her way out of the collar? Naughty dog!" from Dr. Cox. As a last ditch attempt he went so far as to call Lucy, who he also determined useless after she answered with a breathy "Yeah, hello?" and the sound of Cole saying, "Baby, fo reals? At least text if you're gonna use that while we—" before Drew went ahead and hung up.

He grabbed his keys and headed toward the parking lot, searching for her little red compact car—it was gone, of course, but by now he'd already realized that. At least she had her car, which was some relief. It put a damper on the conspiracy theories he was already concocting. He jumped into his own car and turned the key in the ignition, then sat there for a moment, trying to think up a game plan.

First he checked that bar she and the older doctors were always frequenting, but the bartender hadn't seen her all day. Then he checked the park with the narrow slide, the one she liked to sit on a bench and watch the fat kids try to slide down on. It was past nine o'clock by the time he'd reached the Dairy Freeze, and when she didn't turn up there, he started to legitimately worry.

The more he thought about it, the scarier it got. Really, if anything happened to her, no one else would know to look for her. Besides him she was alone—he supposed the same could be said for him, but right now she was the one that was missing, and he was the only one who knew she needed to be found. He felt responsible for letting her get into whatever trouble she was surely in by now.

Out of ideas, he drove back to the dorm building, hoping that she might have returned in the meantime, but knowing that the chances were pretty slim. He had barely opened the door when he knew he wasn't there. Something about her presence made the room feel different—smaller, maybe, or cozier, or something sappy like that—and he could tell right away that he was alone.

He took a few steps in and shut the door. "Where are you?" he muttered to himself. "Where would you possibly . . ."

Just then he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He snapped into action without thinking, flipping the cell phone open and saying, "Denise?" without even bothering to check the caller ID.

"Hey, I'm stuck," came the terse reply.

It was as if every tensed muscle in his body drained itself in that moment, and he sank into the chair. He wanted to yell at her, he wanted to make her understand even the tiniest fraction of his last few hours of frustration and worry, he wanted to lash out with the sort of anger he thought he'd tamed years ago—he wanted to just see her, wherever she was, to make sure she was alright.

"Where are you?" he said instead.

"Gas station with the donuts."

"What?" He tuned into her voice, trying to detect any falter or hiccup, but she was steady and headstrong as ever.

"The sprinkled ones. My car broke down. Hurry up, would you?"

"Y-yeah," he managed, and just like that he was in his car, driving to a gas station thirteen miles away, one he only remembered because Dr. Cox had made Lucy drive there to get him a replacement donut a month ago.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Denise standing there, leaning against the gas station sign. She glanced up at him with her usual scowl and walked over to the car, unceremoniously opening the door and settling into the passenger seat.

"They took my car already, we can go."

"Where have you—"

"Just drive, buck-o."

For the first mile he went ahead and did just that, trying to process what had just happened while he drove. She sat in the seat next to him, her fingers tapping on the door restlessly, her body shifting as if she couldn't bear to be confined in the small space.

To his credit, he did hesitate before asking, knowing she'd get on his case about it. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, Denise—"

It was as if the sound of him saying her name set her off, and she turned and snapped, "I said drive, okay? If you're going to be this girly the whole way home, then please, by all means, drop me by the side of the road and let me walk back—wait, what are you _doing?_"

In a gesture that even surprised himself, he pulled the car off the road, parking in an empty lot. She gaped at him in disbelief, her mouth opening and her eyebrows furrowing with a mix of undeterminable emotion. "Fine," she said, and for once she sound genuinely hurt as she reached her hand for the handle of the door.

"No," he said, grabbing her arm. "You're not leaving the car until you tell me what just happened."

"You can't keep me here," she spat back petulantly.

"Of course I can't," he conceded, releasing his grip, "but damn it, Denise, I care about you, and once in awhile you just have to _trust_ me—"

"No, I don't _have_ to do anything. Now let me out."

"Why can't you just trust me?" he blurted, and she let go of the door handle. In her brief hesitation, he added, "You know everything there is to know about me. I've always been honest with you. I _love_ you." She made a face, but he couldn't be stopped. "What is it, then? Why can't you just tell me?"

Her shoulders sank, resigned to the passenger seat. "You're messing everything up," she said under her breath.

"Yeah, well, at least one of us has the guts to."

She leaned back and turned her face away from him, staring out the window. He knew he was close. They sat wordlessly for a long time, just watching the cars pass, before he noticed her hand compulsively reach up and tug the hair out of her face.

"Today," she said, her throat closed up the way it did when she was trying too hard to keep it even, "is my birthday."

His eyes widened. He hadn't known. It never had really occurred to him to ask, because he had never actually been obligated to acknowledge anyone's birthday before—though, judging by her unrelenting, stoic expression he doubted that a "happy birthday" was in order here.

"You didn't tell me," he said cautiously.

"Yeah, well, because I don't tell anyone, and you just made me," she snapped.

He waited a few seconds. "I don't think I understand," he said, lowering his voice in an attempt to calm her down.

It took longer for her to speak again, and now it seemed that the time passed even slower, both of them tensed and bracing themselves for what she would say next.

"It was also the day that my mother died. Giving birth to me."

The words knocked the air out of him. Whatever he'd been expecting, that was the very last thing. But God, it made sense. She'd said she'd never met her mom, and now that he thought back on the way she always shrugged off the topic, he really should have realized.

"I just . . . I went for a drive. I didn't want to be in the apartment anymore."

He meant to reach for her—to do what? Put an arm around her? Hold her?—but suddenly her whole body shuddered and her eyes scrunched and she wrenched the door handle open, tearing outside as if their proximity had burned her.

"Denise," he called, jumping out of the driver's seat to follow her. She was walking away, her strides long and choppy, painfully urgent. "Denise, wait!"

She whipped around like a snake and yelled back, "I should never have called you! Just leave!"

"I won't," he called back, jogging to catch up with her. He tried to reach for her shoulder, but the moment they connected she wrenched herself away and sprinted a few paces forward, lashing out.

"Of course you will," she shot at him, this time not even bothering to turn around. "Who are we kidding?"

"Do you really think that little of me? That I'd _leave_ you?" he demanded, out of breath from trying to keep up.

She came to a stop then, and so did he, still standing a fair distance behind her, afraid to encroach on her space.

"This isn't easy for me," he said. "I don't just . . . I've never loved anybody before, and it scares the _shit _out of me, every day. But it's worth it. And I am never going to leave you."

He swallowed, embarrassed, and she returned in a small voice, "That's what everyone says."

"Forget everyone else. You know how I feel about you." He took a step forward and said, "Nobody deserved what happened to you, Denise. It's awful, it's unfair, and it's not your fault. You are allowed to have people in your life, and I'm right here."

He watched as her chest expanded with air and sighed heavily, watched as her balled fists uncurled, and she rounded on her heels and started walking back to the car without looking at him. "Let's go home," she said, and he allowed himself a breath of relief, knowing that despite his countless screw-ups, he hadn't failed when it mattered most.

She didn't talk to him on the ride home, or the rest of the night. She had a shift at the hospital the next morning, but this time she didn't tell him to leave, which was as close as she would ever come to asking him to stay.

After a few hours it was apparent he wasn't going to sleep, still too restless from the day's panic and chase. He stared up at the ceiling for a few hours, and long after he thought Denise had fallen asleep, she rolled over and leaned against him, letting him wrap an arm around her to pull her closer.

"I'm glad you're here," she said.

He smiled in the darkness. "Me, too."


End file.
